


Unmeasured by the clock

by psychomachia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Dreams bleeding into reality, F/F, Fingerfucking, Flowers growing out of bodies, Language of Flowers, Murder Wives, On the Run, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: “Men are simpler than you imagine my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted, tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone.”Alana and Bedelia reunite in Monte Carlo.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Bedelia Du Maurier, background Abigail Hobbs/Freddie Lounds
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Unmeasured by the clock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



“I should have known you'd go for this,” Alana says, walking up. She likes to think that she's dressed smart, wearing a linen suit and way too expensive sunglasses, but something about Bedelia always makes her feel a little grubby. “It's in your blood, I guess? I did always wonder how close a relation she was?”

Bedelia lifts her glass of wine, quirks a lip in response. “You could have checked,” she says wryly. “I'm sure one of your colleagues would be more than happy to do some digging.”

“That would be rude.” Alana sits down next to her. There's already a glass of whiskey, neat on the counter. Nothing surprises her anymore and she picks it up, knocks it back.

“I'm hardly going to kill you for that.”

Monte Carlo is actually quite nice and Alana lets herself relax in the gentle breeze. There could be worse places to track someone down in and Bedelia's hotel, as everything else, is beautiful and immaculate. “Or answer my question, I suppose.”

Bedelia's blonde hair is covered with a scarf and her own sunglasses hide her eyes, but Alana would know her no matter what she wore, who she tried to become. Bedelia has to know that, which is why she's been waiting. “Distant, I'm afraid. But you haven't come here to talk about literary relations, I should hope.”

“No,” Alana says and motions for another drink, but honestly, the sight of Bedelia quenches her thirst in a way no amount of alcohol has been able to do in the last six months. “I came to see you.”

Bedelia reaches up a hand, brushes her cheek softly. “I'm glad to see you're all right. Besides the stomach, of course. I really am sorry about that.”

“I know.” It might even be true. Alana reaches up her hand, touches Bedelia's hand and traces her fingers down until she hits cold metal and the band wrapped around Bedelia's finger. “You're still wearing it. I thought you might have gotten rid of it.”

Bedelia's slight smile is no real answer and Alana longs to rip the sunglasses from her eyes to see what she's really thinking. The problem with loving a psychiatrist, Alana thinks, is that you're both experts at waiting people out. Silence is your best weapon to break someone.

Well, one of them and Alana's chest aches at that thought. “Say something,” she murmurs.

“It wouldn't make for sanity would it, living with the devil,” Bedelia says quietly and takes her hand away, leaving Alana's cheek cold.

“I thought we weren't talking about your blood,” Alana replies and leans in to kiss her.

* * *

She almost doesn't let Bedelia out of her sight.

The temptation is strong here to keep her in view, in case she disappears again, but Alana has to remind herself that Bedelia let her find her. If she wanted to hide, there are plenty of boltholes she could have escaped to, friends and acquaintances that would fall under her spell and open the door to let her in. If she wanted to truly run, she would have done it better.

Alana knows she has to keep telling herself that and raises the phone to her ear, dialing a number to a phone that technically doesn't exist.

It picks up on the third ring and she can hear soft breathing on the other end. It's quiet otherwise, no clicking or buzzing and that's a good sign.

“Abigail.”

“Alana?” Abigail whispers her name, so quiet, that Alana wonders if she just imagined it, but-- “You're all right.”

“I'm fine,” Alana says. “Are you alone?”

“For now.” She can hear the sounds of shuffling, imagines that Abigail's getting up, putting on her slippers, checking the door, the windows. She's always been thorough. “Freddie's pulling an all-nighter. I think she's trying to get the dirt on McNally.”

Alana smiles. “I'm hurt,” she replies. “What happened to stalking me around to get her stories?”

“I think leaving the country kind of put a cramp in that,” Abigail says and yawns. “It's not like we've got the budget to drop everything and fly to wherever you are. Speaking of which--”

“It's probably best you don't know,” Alana interrupts, trying to soften it. “I don't want Jack dragging you in. I've already put you through enough.”

There's a long pause and Alana wonders if she's lost Abigail. Being honest hasn't really led to anything good.

“I would have gone, you know,” Abigail says quietly. “If it wasn't for--” and she stops, her voice cracking. “I didn't mean to--”

“It's all right.” Alana closes her eyes, cold in the summer air, but she owes Abigail this. After everything, she owes her understanding. She owes her forgiveness.

She owes her the chance to not be involved in any of this mess. “I love you,” she says. “You stay out of trouble.”

There's a choked laugh on the line. “I love you too, but you know I can't promise you that. Say hi to Bedelia for me.”

“You brat,” Alana says fondly. “Make sure you throw away the phone.”

The line goes dead.

Neither one of them have ever been good at goodbyes.

* * *

Bedelia's room is redolent with the scent of her and Alana could drown in it, going under a sea of flowers and a heady sweet musk.

“I've missed you,” she says and her voice is too desperate, too needy, but it's just the two of them here and she can let herself be ripped open, lay her heart bare and bloody for the taking. She's already taken the first step, removing all artifice until clothing, jewelry, everything she's put on for public eyes is gone and what remains is just her.

Just Alana.

Bedelia comes forward, dropping the robe from her shoulders to reveal creamy skin. She's utterly naked and gorgeous, her nipples already hard and Alana drops down on one knee to take one in her mouth.

“Yes,” Bedelia murmurs and she runs her fingers through Alana's hair. “You're so lovely.”

Alana keeps her tongue on Bedelia's nipple, and moves her fingers down Bedelia's thigh, tracing the fragile bones and feeling the heat that rises from her flesh. But these are just distractions, ultimately, and what she's looking for is wet and warm and welcomes her in, as her fingers dip inside Bedelia.

Bedelia responds by grabbing Alana's hair and the sharp pain is so beautiful. She lets her teeth gently rest her teeth on Bedelia's nipple, a warning graze or a promise of something more. Bedelia is so hot against her, and she could melt in her, her mouth reaching past the skin and bone until it strikes the beating organ underneath her.

Her hands could reach further, could lay Bedelia wide open just as Bedelia has flayed her to the marrow, left her vulnerable and hurt and oh, they're going to do such terrible things to each other and Alana reaches her other hand to finger herself.

“You're so impatient.” Bedelia's voice is chiding but affectionate, a teacher looking after a promising young student. “We have time.”

Alana lifts her mouth from Bedelia's breast, licks her lips and looks up. “You've kept me waiting long enough,” she says. “Or did you want to keep running from everyone?”

“Oh, Alana,” Bedelia says and it's breathy, as Alana twists her fingers inside her. “You're the only one I ever needed to run from.”

Alana nods and then in a sharp, sudden movement, leans in and bites Bedelia's lovely cool skin, drawing blood. Just a warning, for now. "You shouldn't have."

But Bedelia doesn't apologize, doesn't flinch, just smiles at Alana and lets her hand touch the bite, take the blood to her lips and with her tongue, gently tastes it.

Fucking gorgeous, Alana thinks. 

Alana removes her fingers, stands up and Bedelia, so perceptive and obliging, is already backing up to the bed, falling back so that Alana's mouth can move from Bedelia's breasts down lower, licking across her stomach, her thighs. She knows where Alana's going next. 

She always knows.

Alana's tongue dips inside and this, yes, this is coming home to Bedelia. She's letting her in fully and Alana takes advantage, using her tongue to flick along the warm walls. Bedelia's writhing, impatient and ready from Alana's earlier handiwork, but she'll show her that she can be very patient indeed. 

She smiles, hums, and Bedelia clutches even harder at Alana. 

Alana takes her mouth away. "I wonder," she says thoughtfully. "Should we try to see if you can come without me even touching your clit?"

"You--" is all Bedelia can manage to say before Alana goes back in. Her fingers rest on Bedelia's thighs, tickling gently. 

She knows Bedelia's on the verge, will come if she hits just the right spot, but her mercy only extends so far. There's a lot Bedelia has to answer for and Alana's learned a lot about what she's capable of doing these past years.

By the time they're both done, they'll be the most beautiful monsters the world has ever seen.

* * *

Alana walks along the corridors, feeling along the walls. They're smooth stone, gray and slick, interrupted only by doors that swing open into darkness. Every door leads nowhere, and nothing dares remain in them.

Some would have skeletons. Alana doesn't keep reminders. If something leaves her, if something is taken, then she opens her hand and lets it go. Pushes it away if need be.

So let them look for answers. They will find nothing but emptiness.

But the last door at the end, oh, that is the one that matters. It is the only one that is locked, because it is the only thing that Alana cannot bear to give up. No matter what.

She unlocks it with the key only she has. Alana has made sure of that.

Inside, the woman is suspended from the ceiling by ivy, by orange blossom, and out of her skin, a riotous bouquet of phlox and primroses bloom. Just for Alana.

Always, and forever, just for her.

“Bedelia,” Alana says. “My wife.”

“Yes,” Bedelia answers, and her smile is bloody and sharp. It fades though, Bedelia's eyes becoming distant, and it is as if she has once again lost Bedelia, waking up to cold sheets and one last call. “But I've betrayed you. Trust can hardly be earned back again and I suspected I merit some form of retribution for my deceit.”

Alana laughs, plucks a particularly lovely blossom from Bedelia's arm, and smells it. “Is that what you think? Oh, Bedelia. I'm not some vindictive child, seeking revenge for you making the only rational decision. And to be fair,” she says softly, “you did give me a head's up.”

She crushes the blossom in her hand, lets the petals fall to the floor where they decay almost instantly into dust. “No, you've seen inside me and yet you still walked through the door. Still chained yourself up.”

Alana's hand caresses Bedelia's, lightly touches her ring to Bedelia's. “Still loved me after all I had done.”

“I do,” Bedelia admits and her gaze returns back to Alana. Her eyes are clear, steady. Accepting. The flowers contine to drop, withering at her feet. “But--”

“My last wife,” Alana says and she kisses Bedelia, lets her fingers bleed on the thorns that come from Bedelia's heart. “My only.”

“How could I ever let you go after that?”

* * *

The body is still warm when Jack arrives, fueled by anger, self-recrimination, and the ever-present sense that everything is spiraling out of his control.

“We're still checking into the deceased,” one of the local investigators says. “Booked a room under an assumed name, we think, since there's multiple ids. Not much so far.”

The windows are wide open in the room, a cool breeze blowing out the lingering scents of decay and flowers that permeate it. Already, there's a crowd gathering to gawk and Jack has no illusion he'll be able to keep word of this from leaking back to the States. He's lucky to even bully his way on the scene, given his lack of jurisdiction.

And if he knows Freddie, she's already checked her phone and coaxed her editor to book her a flight out.

He bends down, looks at the small white flowers buried in the chest cavity of the corpse, now cracked open to reveal its gory contents. “Anyone know what kind of flowers these are?”

A few looks around the room, and a voice pipes up with, “Star of Bethlehem, sir. They're pretty easy to find around here.”

“Right,” Jack says, his headache only intensifying as he steps back from the man's corpse. “Any sign of the room's actual occupant?”

“Dr. Sangalletti?” The woman flips through her notes. “Checked out this morning. We're looking into where she might have gone--”

“You won't find her,” Jack says. He makes a quick exit, leaving them to the clean-up. He thought about taking Beverly, but it's a foregone conclusion. They'll look for evidence, track down witnesses, do their job, but it won't matter.

Alana was always one of the best. If they find something, it's only because she wanted them to.

And the fact that the body wasn't Dr. Du Maurier's means that her hunt must have been successful as well.

So he's not going to stick around.

He doesn't have to wait to know that once the autopsy is done, they won't be looking at a single killer.

_“I know you've been through a lot,” he tells Alana. He's already uneasy, but he powers through the conversation. “But you might want to take a step back. Ethically speaking--”_

_“It's okay, Jack,” Alana says. “I know what I'm doing. She's already referred me to another psychiatrist. There's nothing actionable here.”_

_“Still--”_

_And Alana leans in, a sweet, bright smile on her face, and says, “I love her, Jack. Don't you have someone that you want to share everything with, no matter what?"_

_The next day, they dug lilacs out of the first corpse._


End file.
